Chapter 4

JACK

Ella Blake. The woman who said no to my proposal and walked away. Nobody walks away from Jack Sterling.

She doesn't know who I really am yet. That night changed everything. Her rejection only makes her more fascinating. Something about her seems familiar - have I met her before? Can't place it. Questions for later. What matters now is how she cured my migraines when America's top neurologists failed. One session with her hands working pressure points and I slept through the night for the first time in years.

"Sir, Ms. Blake exited the hotel," Marcus reported through the intercom.

"Bring her." I turned my wheelchair toward the tinted window of my Lincoln.

My men intercepted her at the revolving doors. She fought them, stubborn and fierce. Beautiful in her anger. When they opened my car door, she tumbled inside, right against my chest. Her scent - vanilla and something uniquely her - hit me first. Then came the heat of her body.

She scrambled away, eyes flashing with recognition and fury. Her cheeks flushed that perfect shade of angry red. The accusation of stalking clear in her expression without needing words.

I watched her reaction coolly. Spending the night in my bed gave me certain rights, whether she acknowledged them or not.

She grabbed for the door handle, panicking when she found it locked. Her eyes darted to the window, registering the Boston traffic surrounding us. The horror dawning on her face told me she realized escape was impossible.

"This is kidnapping," she spat.

"This is a conversation you owe me after pretending to pass out and swimming away from my property."

Her body language screamed defiance. Arms crossed, jaw set, eyes challenging. She clearly believed she owed me nothing after what happened between us.

"You vanished after what happened between us."

Her jaw tightened. I could almost see her mind working, deciding how much to admit or deny.

"Stop!" She raised her hands. "Fine. I treated your headache once. You're welcome. Can I go now?"

"You did more than that, Ella."

She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

"Marriage."

The shock in her eyes was almost comical. Her expression cycled through disbelief, confusion, and something else - curiosity? Her silence spoke volumes about how absurd she found my proposal.

I leaned forward. "I'm responsible. We slept together."

She laughed bitterly. The sound contained no humor, only scorn. She quickly dismissed my traditional values, mocking the idea that physical intimacy required commitment. Her modern view of casual encounters clashed with my principles.

"Not with me."

"We barely know each other!"

"I know enough." I leaned forward. "You're talented. Stubborn. Running from something. Carrying secrets as big as mine."

She turned away, staring out the window. Her request to go home hung between us.

"To the Blakes? Where Kate and your parents are celebrating her relationship with your ex? That home?"

Her flinch told me everything. The wound still fresh.

"I'm offering you a way out, Ella."

"By becoming your prisoner?"

"By becoming my wife."

She studied me with those penetrating eyes. Her voice softened, vulnerable for the first time. The question was genuine - why her, when I could choose anyone? What made her special enough for this sudden proposal?

The truth would come later. "You intrigue me. And you need me."

"I need no one."

"Your family treats you like trash. Your fiancé dumped you for your sister. Where will you go?"

Her eyes glistened. The first sign of cracks in her armor. "I'll figure it out."

"With me, you wouldn't just survive. You'd thrive."

She stared at her hands. "I need time."

"How much?"

"A month. To get to know each other. After that, if I want out, you let me go."

I nodded, having no intention of ever letting her walk away. "Agreed."

"And I won't stay at Cape Cod. Too isolated."

"My Boston penthouse, then."

Surprise flickered across her face at my easy concession. She hadn't expected me to accommodate her terms so readily.

The city passed in silence. Her exhaustion showed as her eyes grew heavy.

"Who are you really, Jack Sterling?" she murmured.

"Someone who gets what he wants."

She fell asleep minutes later. I texted Marcus: Prepare the penthouse.

Dawn broke through the Cape Cod mansion windows. I watched the city stir to life while waiting for Ella to emerge from her room. When I entered, she stood in the bathroom doorway, freezing when she spotted me. Her hand flew to her face—the left side now perfectly smooth.

"Shit!" She ducked back into the bathroom.

Too late. I'd seen her secret—her flawless face. When she emerged minutes later, the artificial scar was back in place.

Her annoyance at my intrusion was evident as she snatched the Burberry clothes I'd brought. My questioning about the fake scar met with immediate resistance. Her body language closed off completely.

"None of your business."

"Everything about you is my business now."

She scoffed. "I agreed to one month. Not ownership."

After breakfast, I brought Ella to my Boston penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city from forty floors up. She wandered the space, trailing fingers over Italian marble counters, examining artwork worth millions without knowing their value. Her silent appraisal meant more than effusive praise from others.

"This is where you live?"

"One of my residences."

She turned. "Let's set ground rules."

"I'm listening."

She laid out her conditions: separate bedrooms, consent before touching, freedom to maintain her schedule including hospital visits to Amy. Her independence mattered to her. I respected that while knowing it was temporary.

I countered with my own terms: she would stay here, not with the Blakes; she would answer my calls; and no more deception between us. Her hesitation at "no lies" intrigued me.

"Define lies."

"No more pretending to pass out to escape me."

A smile almost touched her lips. "Deal."

Our negotiation continued to relationship status. She resisted any formal label, but practicality won out. She agreed to "girlfriend" status temporarily, accepting the public narrative we'd need.

"Then call me Jack, not Mr. Sterling."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Jack."

My phone buzzed with business that couldn't wait. When I returned, Ella was studying the Monet in my living room, wondering if it was genuine. Her question about my wealth and disability carried unconscious insensitivity.

"The wheelchair isn't a game, Ella."

Her cheeks colored with embarrassment. She hadn't meant to offend, but her words revealed her assumptions.

She asked if it was my first time, and something twisted in my gut. Yeah, it was true. But there was no way in hell I'd let her see me crack. "Want to go again?" I fired back, turning the tables before she could dig deeper.

She blushed, then mentioned needing a phone to replace her lost one. Marcus appeared with a gift box containing the latest iPhone Pro Max. Her initial resistance to such an expensive gift was evident in her expression and body language.

I insisted. A woman associated with Jack would have the best of everything, whether she wanted it or not.

When she mentioned needing to collect her belongings from the Blake mansion, I arranged for my driver and security team. Her independence flared again as she insisted she didn't need protection. I explained about possible media attention following Ryan's betrayal. Her reluctant nod conceded the point.

As evening approached, I watched her step into the elevator. She stood straighter now, chin higher. Something about her had changed already.

"I won't be long," she said, meeting my eyes.

"I'll be here when you return."

The doors closed. I turned toward the windows, surveying my domain. Boston spread before me, buildings glowing in the sunset. Soon, Ella would understand exactly who she'd agreed to call her boyfriend. And then, her husband.

"Marcus," I called. "Monitor the Blake residence."

Nobody escapes Jack Sterling. Nobody.